


Alice in Modland

by The_Weird_Author_1964



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: references to British pop culture, this could totally be an episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 02:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15185183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Weird_Author_1964/pseuds/The_Weird_Author_1964
Summary: I found a prompt on Reddit (I don't remember who posted it) and accidentally wrote fanfiction)





	Alice in Modland

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: You have lived a very dull and boring life so far. Now, however, you find yourself in a small room filled with lots of supplies, and behind the next door is a powerful enemy, or rather a boss.

I thought today was going to be a regular day at the office, like most pieces of fiction it’s definitely not. Apparently some mentally unstable person decided to shoot up and hold hostages in a press office, who do they think they are? Hans Gruber? At least I was already getting something out of the supply closet, because I just heard a gun and a scream. Good thing I can move the supply rack to the door as a barricade to protect myself.

 

Wait, why is there another door in here? I’m going to follow my curiosity like the idiot I am and open the door, hopefully not stumbling upon either a child’s room as if I were a monster, or a group of people worshiping Kali-Ma. As a wise man once said, “into the toilet I go” even though I’m not going into a toilet. When I enter the mystery room I can hear “Welcome To The Machine”, except if it were the theme song of an arcade game. Apparently everything is in 8-bit and brightly colored and fast-paced like the music. My surroundings look quite familiar, townhouses conjoined together, gray sky, narrow streets and equally narrow alleyways, and tiny cars parked on the left side of the road. I see an army of robots approaching me in the distance, they all resemble the Blue Meanies except cold and solid metal. One of them took out a gun of some kind and aimed at my head, much like Steve Rogers I took the lid of a trash can and used it as a shield, even though bullets could penetrate a thin barrier of tin. I ducked behind my shield so I might be protected from head trauma. I heard a gunshot, but when I looked at my trash lid, I saw no bullet holes. My curiosity got the best of me and I looked up to see that the firearm was just a very realistic cap gun. Fascinating, what kind of thug would use a cap gun in crime? At least I’m not dead, yet.

 

The mechanical Blue Meanies shut off as if their souls were taken from them, odd. As the Blue Meanies were presumed dead, a group of playing cards that were apparently humanoid appeared as if they were beamed down from the starship Enterprise. The card people were mainly heart cards that wielded heart tipped spears, it’s not Valentine’s Day yet. The cards split into two rows that made an aisle in the middle that revealed a large woman in a red and black ball gown with a small golden crown sitting upon her head. Then a white rabbit with round glasses, wearing a long sleeved red and white shirt with a heart on the torso and an Elizabethan-era collar wielding a trumpet appeared, where’s Jefferson Airplane when you need them? The rabbit blew the trumpet and introduced the woman as the Queen of Hearts. She began to walk down the aisle very proudly with a grin on her round face, the Queen instructed me to stand with my legs together and my feet to be parallel to my hips; so ballet must exist in this dimension if I was told to stand in first position turned out. The Queen informed me to address her as Your Majesty and curtsy while shaking my head saying “yes, Your Majesty”.

 

“Do you play croquet?” the Queen asked while leaving only a tiny bit of space between our faces, I replied with the medieval phrase and princess-like bow to accept her offer of croquet. She then handed me a tall bird of some sort that was in a standing position, “odd” I thought “wouldn’t using a bird’s head to hit a wooden ball cause traumatic injury to said bird?” I guess concussions don’t exist in this dimension. Even though I am definitely not a sporty individual, I tried my best, as usual. Croquet went fine until a pink and purple striped cat appeared on the skirt of the Queen’s gown, when I attempted to address her about the matter she yelled at me to be quiet. Harsh, much? The cat was smiling at me with yellow teeth, as if they were persuading me to swindle the game. The cat went with their plan and sabotaged the match then made it seem like I did it, “OFF WITH THEIR -” the Queen yelled as if she was yelling at someone to get up against the wall. However a tiny king tugged on her dress like a child getting their mother’s attention, “Consider my dear, she have a trial first?” he asked.

 

I was dragged into a courtroom where the Queen was the judge, would be more fitting if she were a worm instead of a human. The white rabbit from earlier was on a podium, acting as a prosecutor, well then. When I tried to prove my innocence and that I sabotaged by a cat on the Queen’s skirt, the Queen got offended and yelled her catchphrase. Does therapy not exist in this realm?

 

When I was being dragged away, it seemed like the matrix or the fabric of the universe was disassembling due to the fact the court and its patrons, besides myself, were phasing out of existence. I don’t remember this part of Lewis Carroll's novel, maybe I should go ask Alice, I think she’ll know: honestly, the logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead. What I do remember is that the Red Queen is “off with her head” and that the dormouse wants me to “feed my head”, whatever that means.

 

As soon as I reappeared in front of the deceased robot Blue Meanie, the music from earlier has been replaced with a distorted version of “God Save The Queen”. Wait, why does the city look like cutouts from a black and white magazine? What next, I’ll have fighting a trauma inducing boss in order to leave this Terry Gilliam interpretation of London? I stealthily rolled to the abandoned cap gun and picked it up so I might survive the next militia.

 

A shadow in the sky caught my eye, it was a figure holding an umbrella and was somehow levitating down from a cloud. Apparently the laws of physics also don’t apply to London, or at least a version of London where the fabric of the universe tears quite frequently. As the figure came closer to the ground, they were dressed in white pants, a jacket that resembles Pete Townshend’s Union Jacket, and light brown oxford shoes. The figure appeared to be a man with bright red hair, blue glasses, a cane with a red diamond as the handle, and perfectly straight teeth. Ironic.

 

The man landed in a squatting position, in a mid-range voice with a British accent he greeted me with “hello there”. He walked towards me with a huge cheshire grin on his face, how the hell is someone that joyful? Did he get possessed by Austin Powers? This is the part when I would most likely get murdered and disembodied in a dark alleyway, guess I’ll die.

 

….

 

“I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire!” Mad Mod yelled from the other side of the street. “Your new empire?” I questioned, “Mad Mod, you fucking idiot, my allegiance is to the constitution! TO THE REPUBLIC!” I yelled back, echoing in the empty, pixelated street. The Pete Townshend wannabe claimed that I am his enemy, with his back facing me, “Obviously, dumbass, only a Brit deals in absolutes.” I coldfully replied. Just like the Spanish Inquisition, a bayonet appeared beside me, “What the hell?” I thought while looking at the sci-fi version of a historic firearm. What kind of mastermind makes a bayonet with the powers of a phaser with a lightsaber as the sword? Knowing my only chance of being victorious over a universe-bending psychopath, I equipped myself with the futuristic take on a classic French firearm and set my phaser to stun.  _ WOOSH!  _ Cool, my lightsaber is apparently purple, except I’m not Samuel L. Jackson.

 

When I looked up from my bayonet, my foe disappeared, leaving me alone. “I have a bad feeling about this.” I whispered to myself while surveying my surroundings. “You will never find me, my duckie.” Mad Mod’s voice boomed seemingly out of nowhere, “and to make sure you don’t go spelunking around, I’ve set up barriers.” I looked around and saw that the clock face of Big Ben was a viewscreen with him looking directly at me. Am I going to be yelled to get up against a wall now?

 

“What are you going to do? Feed me to a spider named Boris if I escape?” I said over dramatically. Just then walls were built around me out of nowhere, “Hopefully another brick in the wall will shut you up.” Mad Mod said in a threatening tone. “I’ve heard better threats come from Winnie the Pooh, and he’s an anthropomorphic teddy bear.” I yelled back.

 

He didn’t have any comebacks to top mine, so he shut off the viewscreen and left me alone within the white brick walls. Where’s Roger Waters when you need him? Even though I don't have a hammer, I could try to use my phaser. Setting it to kill and aiming it at the wall, I pulled the trigger hoping for the best. After about a minute, smoke formed around the beam and gave off an odor reeking of bleach, “Oh god, it’s like World War I.” I said.

 

Holding my breath and keeping my eyes tightly shut, I ran through the smoke until I felt my temples throbbing: I halted while hyperventilating and opened my eyes to see a building labeled “ABBEY ROAD STUDIOS”. “Very clever, my love. You may have broken the wall, but you haven’t found the stairway to Heaven and you never will!” Mad Mod exclaimed while standing a few feet across from me, aiming a golden gun at my head. “This guy’s name is about insane as his excessful joyfulness.” I thought, “if I never find the stairway to Heaven,  does that theoretically mean I’ll only find the highway to Hell?” I questioned my foe whilst staring him down. As usual, Mad Mod avoided the question, “or is this Hell? Then again, I doubt you can tell Heaven from Hell, or blue skies from pain.”. Just like Basil Fawlty, my foe got triggered by the smallest detail and retaliated: he somehow managed to once again break the laws of physics and also the universe by summoning one of the most brutal events in European history, “NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!” a voice behind me exclaimed. Holy shit, I did not expect that reference, nobody would. Besides a psychopathic maniac that can break the matrix, I also have to deal with 16th century Spanish priests. If I somehow got through Mad Mod’s traps and I know his pattern of attack, I won’t get fooled again: how will I counteract his plans? First I’ll have to get rid of the Spanish Inquisition, and my only method I have is shooting them. As I aimed at them, the Spanish Inquisition disappeared, typical.

 

My foe, however, didn’t disappear: fascinating. What will his next challenge be? A pinball tournament between me and a deaf, dumb, and blind kid? You know how that will end. “Now what are you going to do? Strap me into a chair, force my eyes open with speculums, and make me watch Quadrophenia or some other worthless excuse for a movie? Well, I’ve got some bad news for you sunshine, I’ve seen half of that movie and I can say it’s grade A nonbiodegradable trash.” I snarkily claimed. “No, why would I waste time in scratching your corneas when I could impose overdrive on your senses.” the cherry haired psychopath stated in a condescending manner, I could feel a single drop of anxiety-induced sweat slither down my forehead. I could have comforted myself by making a joke about what he said, but my instincts told me otherwise: I gulped with my eyes wide as a captain about to murder a well-respected colonel in the middle of the jungle, “This is the end, beautiful friend”. Truly, the end was my  _ only  _ friend at this point. I’d rather be stuck in a hotel located near the U.S. embassy in Saigon, waiting for a mission deep in the untouched wilderness of eastern Indochina, than in a dimly lit alley of London on the doorstep of eternal suffering.

 

Despite the fact my anxiety was seizing total control of my thought process, a renegade point of logic stood out like fluorescent orange powder dusted over the dense and tropical terrain of Southeast Asia: “The real question is, why are you, a super villain, holding me, an average journalist, hosta-” I was cut off by Mad Mod striking the back of my head with the oversized ruby handle of his cane. “There will be no talking whatsoever during a lesson, you understand?” the British bastard shouted in a fashion similar to a headmaster yelling at a student for writing poems during class instead of focusing on what they were being brainwashed. “Fuck” I thought “I guess in this situation, I’m going to know how it feels to chew 5 Gum.”: my gaze was suddenly ripped from the ground to my foe, “WHAT IS THAT?” he demanded whilst pointing at an enamel pin on one of the lapels of my suit jacket. “A BEACH BOYS PIN, ON YOUR UNIFORM?” he yelled while I attempted to hide my grin as if he mentioned the name Biggus Dickus, my foe continued ranting like a drill sergeant telling off a private who disobeyed him by demanding me to wipe off the smile on my face and degrading me as a worthless and weak American. “Actually” I spoke up with a finger raised, “if you look at my herita-” he swung the back of my head with his cane again, “as I was saying, my duckie, I hate it when bratty young people disobey the law. Especially when they shed light on the do-gooders who stop crime and put people like me in jail.” Mad Mod started kindly but quickly became sour, nearly screaming his undying hatred for the safety and security of the people and their liberty. “So, this megalomaniac isn’t just some dumbass who enjoys psychological torturing others for their own amusement. Wait, why is he blaming it on the youth of contemporary civilization?” I brainstormed to myself until he hit the back of my head again, however, this time with more force. That was my final comprehensive thought for possibly hours due to the sheer amount of trauma directed at his target.

 

…

 

I thought I was thrown like a star in my vast sleep, I slowly opened my eyes to see if what occured to me was a dream: trying to look around was painful, “I guess it wasn’t a dream or some sick nightmare since I’m not by the sea, gazing with tranquility.” my thoughts continued, “Where is that British bastard, anyway? I’m going to kick his ass and chew bubblegum, and I’m all out of gum.”. I attempted to seek out Mad Mod’s worthless life and useless civilization, however, I couldn’t boldly go and kick his ass: much like a useless love-interest, I’m bound to a chair with kevlar rope. I don’t see Bob Dylan, or The Beatles, or Timothy Leary anywhere. Well, fuck; I’m doomed. “It could be worse” I thought, ”I could have a bomb strapped to my back, or be tormented by an uncle whose had a few too many tonight.”. However, I was left with a sadistic “cousin”: Mad Mod tied me to a chair which won’t allow me to go anywhere, there’s a lot a freak could do to an average person. What’s he going to do? Due to the fact he can bend the laws of physics and the matrix, Mad Mod could do more than sticking pins in my fingers, putting spikes on my seat, or giving me a push at the top of the stairs. Then again, I should be glad he’s not going to harm me in the same way an uncle would who’s perfectly okay with “fiddling about” with their disabled relative that happens to be a minor. I knew fighting that deaf, dumb, and blind kid would have been a better idea than keeping someone in a stalemate, oh wait, the psychotic dumbass who’s fighting me wouldn’t do that. “What did I do to be in this situation?” I questioned my foe, knowing he’s lurking somewhere near, “I didn’t fight the law, YOU did, and it’s about time the law won.” I snapped at my somehow nonexistent enemy.

 

SMACK! Alas, I got hit in the head, again. I swear, how many more times is the god of this universe going to write in injuries? “I’m trying to live in a socie-.” I said before I blacked out, for the second time in a row. What next, am I going to be chloroformed?

 

...

 

As I took in my surroundings, I was in a kitchen. A kitchen with one dark powder blue wall and two with neutral toned farm wallpaper. I feel like I’ve seen this kitchen before, but where? I turn my head, slowly, to the direction in which a tall blonde woman was standing. She was standing in front of the kitchen counter, doing dishes. Did she kidnap me? I try to not make any sounds as I explore the new territory like a captured army captain observing the small area of a temple. I felt the urge to scratch my nose, as my brain directed my arm to move, I noticed I wasn’t bound to a chair. One side of my nerves ordered me to question the blonde woman, meanwhile the other, ridden with anxiety, wanted me to stay silent and stealthy. I attempted to scoot out of my chair to be hidden from the stranger in their own kitchen.

 

A guitar riff accompanied by obscene lyrics boomed in my skull, nearly putting me into the mindset to grab a machete and kill this woman in her own home as if she were wanted by the U.S. government. I crawled out of the kitchen, resemblant of a soldier delving under barbed wire to take out an entire squadron. I noticed a pair of pink bunny slippers under the door of the refrigerator, possibly belonging to a woman. Would I have to assassinate another innocent person to escape? I gravitated towards the barriers of this kitchen, not wanting to draw attention to myself. In the next room, an elderly lady reading the newspaper and a tall lady in an outfit resemblant of Julia Roberts in the iconic pink and black outfit. In the corner of my eye, I saw a door. Will it take me back to my dimension? Doubt it. Will I be hidden from these people? Yes.

 

I continued crawling to the door, but the elderly lady turned her head in my direction, gazing at me as if I insulted her. Naturally I slowly raised my arms, my head sinking into my torso like a man being consumed by a field near a rice paddy. Suddenly everyone was staring at me in the same manner. The pretty woman, the schoolgirl, the older woman, and the elderly lady. All visibly confused and horrified by my presence. The silence was almost as dense as the moustache on the pretty woman’s face. The pretty woman pointed a light canary yellow feather duster in my face, “who let you in here?” she interrogated me without mentioning her name, then pulling out a knife. “Did Rog leave the door open again? Well, you better get out before this”, she wiggles the knife in front of my throat, threatening to puncture my trachea. “Is slicing in your neck.” she ended.

 

I could feel a single bead of sweat slither down my temple, like a dream, or like a nightmare? “Uh, miss.”,  _ Melina _ she interjected. “I can explain my situation, even though it’s quite the acid trip.”, she raised her eyebrow in a fascinating manner. “Apparently a psychopathic redhead is chasing me for no reason and is trying to psychologically torture me for no reason whatsoever, besides wanting young people to commit crime and just be absolutely stupid.” I explained. She asked why it’s like an acid trip, “Sadly, I have no clue how I ended up in your home, Mad Mod probably teleported me here.”. 


End file.
